


Drive Stick

by trashfortimmy



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Boys Kissing, Car Sex, Double Entendre, Everyone Is Gay, Face-Fucking, Feels, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Tension, There's a first time for everything, Tie Kink, boys being soft, driving stick, manual transmission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23201221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashfortimmy/pseuds/trashfortimmy
Summary: Armie teaches Timmy how to drive stick.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 38
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy quarantine, peoples! It's very weird and kinda scary but almost comforting to know we're in this all together?? Since I have so much time to write, have some sexually charged gear shifting and ensuing sexy times.
> 
> So many bummers lately, including the fact that Timmy and Armie won't be performing on stage. *cries*
> 
> Here is something fun (with orgasms!!!) to distract us from these sad and crazy times.
> 
> The inspiration for this comes from the song "Come Around Me" on Justin Bieber's new album, which I have been shamelessly listening to on repeat. He has oh so very many of these lovely double entendres in his songs, and it got me thinking. This one's been particularly on my mind:
> 
> _Who taught you how to drive stick?  
>  You a fool wit it  
> Love the way you fool wit it_
> 
> Oh my my, what do we have here?? Driving stick....I wonder what that could mean !! *wink wink*
> 
> First, Armie shows Timmy how to drive stick. Then, in a second part to be added later, he shows him how to _drive stick_.
> 
> I kinda mixed facts about Armie IRL and my own fictional Armie with his own made up facts.
> 
> I had waaaay too much fun with this so I hope you enjoy!

Timmy is visiting Armie in Texas and the boys are playing a round of Never Have I Ever.

"I've never driven stick," says Timmy, hands resting in his lap, no longer counting on his fingers, the rules of the game forgotten in favor of confessing truths, plain and simple.

"Seriously, what?!" Armie exclaims, somehow shocked at Tim's admission.

Even though he shouldn’t be surprised at all, given where Tim grew up, and the fact of his age.

At the incredulous look Timmy gives him, one that conveys _As if you don't know me_ , Armie says, "Oh right, New York guy. Plus you're young as hell."

"Shut up," Timmy mutters, rolling his eyes. "I've barely driven, man, give me a break."

“Shit,” says Armie, huffing a laugh. He’s thoughtful for a moment before continuing. "I love the way a stick drives. I keep a truck around with a manual transmission just to feel it every once in a while."

Tim's cheeks warm at Armie's confession, although he can't say why.

Armie catches Tim's blush but thinks it's because he's embarrassed at never having learned in the first place. He knows Timmy, loves his openness, delights in seeing emotions play out across his face. It's something he's loved about him since the moment they met.

He wants to show Tim how to drive a stick shift, thinks it's time to pay it forward and give the gift of a lesson to someone else. Timmy seems unsure but Armie is determined.

Growing up in the Caymans, there hadn’t been much to do. All throughout his childhood and adolescence, Armie would spend most of his time alone, just him and his machete. He was often left to his own devices, had to use his imagination and whatever he could find to fight off his boredom. He'd already moved once, had a hard time making friends in the first place, and then his family had moved again, this time to Los Angeles, when he was only thirteen.

High school brought a major growth spurt and a change in the attitudes of his peers towards him. He stood out in literally any situation because of his height, felt annoyed that he couldn't help but be seen above everyone else's head. He still felt awkward around other kids, felt like he didn't fit neatly into any existing social group, didn't know where to find the other machete enthusiasts or island kids in his new environment. 

The semester before he dropped out, he’d made friends with an upperclassman who sat next to him in shop class. They had been paired up for a project and started talking, instantly bonding over their amusement at the teacher’s insanely thick eyebrows. They’d moved from _It looks like two caterpillars are having a dance party on his face_ to other topics, like their favorite things to do or what movies they’d watched. The other kid had thought Armie was _cool_ for having spent the majority of his time growing up hacking his way through the forest by himself, had laughed when Armie told him he’d seen _Titanic_ in the lone theater on the island more times than he’d like to count because it was the only thing that was playing.

He’d started bumping shoulders with Armie when he said something the older kid thought was funny, had started leaning over close to Armie, so very close, to see the design he’d been sketching in his class notebook. Armie’s heart had pounded as he’d waited for the kid’s reaction to his drawing, for some kind of response, had nearly stopped beating altogether when the kid had said an easy, but proud, _“Cool, man,”_ with an approving nod of his head.

After a few days of working on the project together in class, Armie had run into him in the school parking lot.

 _“Hey, Armie!”_ the kid had shouted (and Armie can still feel the flush that took over his body at having been acknowledged like that, can still feel his cheeks heat at the memory of it). He’d been in his truck, arm resting on the open window, hand sticking out and flicking a lighter absentmindedly.

Armie had thought he was so _cool_ , was at that age where being two years older made a world of difference. This kid had owned a truck, he could drive himself anywhere he wanted; Armie had only dreamed of that kind of freedom. Not only did the kid have a truck, but he had an easy way about him; he smiled often, a brilliant, open smile that seemed to shine wherever he went. 

Armie had walked over to the truck, still unable to process that this kid, this cool kid, would want to talk to him outside of class, in public, way out in the open where anyone could see.

 _“Need a ride?”_ the kid had said, easily, coolly.

Armie had shrugged, unsure, but unable to decline the offer. He’d climbed into the truck, full of nerves, full of hope, but his head empty of words, of things to say.

His eyes had roamed the interior of the truck, everything appearing to be that perfect combination of cool and easy, in style but not trying too hard; shiny, not from newness but from being worn down with use.

Armie’s gaze had settled in the space between their seats, not knowing what else to say, not knowing where else to look. He’d kept his eyes down, feeling shy, feeling like he wouldn’t live up to exactly what he had to be to deserve sitting in this cool truck with this cool kid.

His mind had stopped spinning long enough to notice the apparatus between their seats, the lever, the thingy that changed the car’s gears. _Manual transmission_ , Armie’d thought, _of course_. You had to be skilled to drive manual, had to have enough finesse to apply pressure at the right moments and with enough ease to make it look like absolutely no effort at all. Stick shift was the very definition of _‘cool’_. 

His gaze had flicked up when he’d seen the kid’s hand coming towards him. He still remembered exactly how he’d been holding the proffered joint as he’d held it out towards Armie, stretching into the space between them but not pushing the boundary of Armie’s space, making the effort without much exertion. _The cool way_.

They’d smoked together in relative quiet, trading the joint back and forth between them, until the kid had started the car and put it into gear. Armie had watched curiously as his feet had pressed and released, as his hand on the shifter between their bodies had moved with precision and ease. He’d felt fascinated, mesmerized.

_“Ever driven stick, Armie?”_

Armie had simply shook his head.

_“You gotta try.”_

Eventually they’d decided that Armie would have to learn on the kid’s truck, as there were no other options. They had gone to a spot on the outskirts of the city with no traffic, no other people or cars around, and spent the better part of an afternoon and evening together while the kid taught Armie how to drive stick. Armie can still picture his warm smile when Armie stalled out or got embarrassed by the abrupt, lurching movements of the truck as he’d awkwardly tried to shift gears. Can still feel the warmth of the day, the leather of the seat beneath him, the kid’s arm on his as he’d encouraged him to try again.

When Armie was able to drive on his own, he’d gone out and bought himself a vintage car with a manual transmission as soon as he’d saved enough money. The kid had since graduated and moved away, but Armie had still thought of him every time he’d driven his own manual vehicle, stick shifting his way easily around the city.

When Armie’d moved to Texas as an adult, he couldn’t resist getting a truck with manual. He basically lived on a ranch, and he felt it was befitting of the place he lived and the image that went along with it. The truck was slightly rusty but the engine worked just fine, so he didn’t mind. He’d gotten it for a bargain, and the seller had been confident it would last for a long time, adding a wistful, drawling _“They don’t make cars like they used to anymore”_.

Whenever he drives his truck, he always thinks of the kid. His calm presence, his ease with the clutch and gear shifter, the way their fingers had brushed when passing the j between them.

When Armie bought his truck, he’d been so proud to be able to drive it home, to feel it responding to him like they were already familiar with one another, like an old friend. 

He didn’t drive it much anymore, but kept it around just to have the experience of driving stick every once in a while. He loves his rusty old truck, loves the clutch that sometimes gets stuck and the gearshift that’s so worn down you can almost make out the ridges of the imprints from the multiple hands that have gripped it over the years.

Armie is dying to get Timmy in that truck. He wants him to feel the way a stick drives, wants him to experience driving with his whole body; wants him to feel the gears shift under him, sense the car responding to his every touch.

He has to learn how to drive in manual, just _has_ to get the feel of it, at least once in his life.

And who better to teach him than Armie himself?

They get in Armie's truck, Timmy clambering into the driver's seat as Armie folds himself into the passenger seat. There is a moment of silence as both men adjust their seats to get more comfortable, Timmy pulling up the seat back until he’s sitting completely straight, Armie pushing the seat backward as far as it goes to accommodate his long legs.

When Timmy looks up at the rearview mirror and frowns, Armie reaches a hand over and tilts it down for him, peering at his face carefully. He fiddles with it a bit more, until he gets confirmation from Tim in the form of eye contact and a barely noticeable nod.

They turn away from each other, backs pressed against their own seats, each looking straight ahead.

"So," Timmy starts, looking at the gear shift between them with nervous eyes. "Ummm..."

"So," Armie steps in, all confident and blustering, "This is the gear shift," pointing to the thing between them, "and this is the clutch," tapping the floor beneath his seat with his own left foot while motioning down at Timmy's.

Timmy takes a deep breath and holds it, but otherwise has no other reaction.

“First you gotta put the key in the ignition and start the car.”

At that, Timmy lets out his breath with a huff of incredulous laughter and a tiny eye roll. At least his body visibly relaxes. He inserts the key into the correct slot, turns it with a tight grip and flick of his wrist, and smiles, lips sealed together as the edges turn up with satisfaction, when the engine purrs to life.

“Seatbelt.”

Turning his upper body towards Armie, Timmy sends him a glare, and buckles the seatbelt one-handed without changing his gaze.

“Ok. So, basically: clutch, shift to first, press the gas pedal, let up the clutch as you give it more gas,” Armie says.

Timmy turns back, hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel, back straight, seeming to steel himself for the upcoming (and frankly, challenging) task.

"Ready to try it?" Armie turns to him, energy radiating off of him and his face serious but bright; Timmy just sits there, unmoving.

"Put your hand on it,” Armie says, gesturing to the gearshift between them. "Don't be afraid, it won't bite."

Timmy lets his neck hang and moves his head towards Armie, swinging his gaze over dramatically. He lets out a puff of breath, almost a scoff, and his eyes move upward in a barely-there roll. 

“Timmy,” Armie sing-songs. He leans in, the vinyl material of the seat underneath him making a scrunching sound as he moves. “It won’t hurt you, I promise. I won’t let it,” he loud-whispers.

Timmy rolls his eyes, fully this time, and lets out a sigh, but takes his right hand off the steering wheel and grips the gearshift instead. He depresses the clutch pedal with his left foot, thigh shifting with the pressure he applies.

With his right hand, Timmy moves the lever timidly, the gears grinding as they slowly change. It’s harder to move than he thought it would be, not as easy to slide between park and first gear as he would have liked. Timmy's face twists as he winces, the noise loud and scratchy. He feels like a teenager learning to drive for the first time, and it’s embarrassing.

Suddenly Armie’s left hand is over his right, having flown over from where it was previously resting on Armie’s own thigh. His hand is so much bigger than Timmy’s that it completely eclipses his smaller hand, now seemingly delicate and fragile under Armie’s strong, capable hand. Armie pushes his hand down and then moves the gearshift, with Timmy’s hand sandwiched in between his hand and the stick, to the left and up. 

Armie’s movement is quick, confident. Timmy feels the car shift seamlessly into first gear, feels Armie trapping his hand in a near death-grip; Armie’s so in control.

"Really grip it now,” comes the instruction. He tenses his grip, feeling the way Armie’s hand moves on top of his in response.

Armie tells him how to shift into second - press the clutch, shift straight down, ease off the clutch when you feel the car start to vibrate, keep pressing the gas.

"Now, don't fool with it, shift like you mean it."

Timmy tries, successfully shifting into second but popping his foot off the clutch too soon, causing the car to start to stall. He instinctively presses down further with his right foot, applying more gas to try to get the car to go, but instead it lurches forward, both their bodies jerking with the momentum.

“Want to give it another try?” Armie asks, meaning it but speaking easily, letting Tim know he’s there for him, there’s no pressure to do it perfectly.

When Tim accepts, Armie instructs him to shift back down to first, guiding him step-by-step.

“Ready?” Armie asks simply. Timmy gives a single nod, short but firm. He seems determined to get it right this time.

That giant hand is still over his own, but this time it doesn’t move for him. Armie keeps his hand where it is but lets Tim do the shifting. Timmy jerks the gearshift straight back, letting up on the clutch softly as he applies more pressure to the gas pedal with his other foot. It’s a coordinated movement, and although it takes massive focus on Timmy’s part to pull off, he does so successfully. He’s now in second gear.

“That’s it,” Armie says, and he sounds proud. 

Armie’s words of encouragement wash over him, bringing a calmness and clarity he’s rarely felt in his life. His mind is focused, his skin feels extra sensitive. He feels like he could do anything with Armie gripping him like this, urging him on like this.

Tim can feel the engine rumbling under his seat, feels its trembling all throughout his body, feels himself connected to the car and the car connected to him. They are one and the same, a closed loop of pressure and vibration, action and feedback.

The longer he drives, the more at ease he becomes. He feels more confident with it bit by bit; the longer Armie guides him through it, the less starts and stops there are. Just smooth driving.

When the car is back in park, neither of them are quick to move. A quiet, comfortable silence settles between them. Both men are staring out the front windshield, seatbelts off, absorbing the unspoken closeness between them that had developed since clambering into Armie’s rusty old truck.

Their quiet bubble is broken by some movements from the driver’s seat, where Timmy starts shifting slightly, back now bowed from where he’s slumped down a little, no longer stick-straight with nerves and the need to pay attention. The motion startles Armie from his silence, and he turns his head to look at Timmy.

His head is angled down, and Armie watches as his eyes roam over the car’s interior, as if he’s really seeing it all now. His gaze moves from the steering wheel in front of him down to the pedals at his feet; Armie continues to stare as his eyes stop on the gear shift between them. 

Timmy’s eyes remain down, fixed on that lever betwixt their seats, that small moveable object that makes all the difference in a vehicle like Armie’s - _manual_ , work to be done with one’s own hands.

Armie looks at the gear shift too, and to the area right around it, where their legs are casually resting. He didn’t notice it before but now he feels the closeness of their bodies despite the piece of machinery blocking the way to full contact. Both of their thighs are bracketing the shifter, resting directly alongside it, Timmy’s on the left and Armie’s on the right. It’s a kind of human-machine-human sandwich, but in a way it’s fitting; the thing between their legs, although separating them from touching flesh-to-flesh, is the very thing that has bonded them closer together.

Armie beams adoration at Timmy’s slightly downcast face, the nostalgic memory of learning to do the very thing that he just taught Timmy mixing with the uniqueness of this new memory, one where he gets to be on the other side of things, teaching it to someone who he feels this close to. 

Timmy still hasn’t looked up, seems to be lost in his own thoughts as he continues to stare at the gear shift, posture relaxed and face soft but intense.

Armie leans back against his own seat, face still turned towards Timmy. His hand comes to rest on the outside of his left thigh, pinky-edge of his palm falling into the inch of seat space left between his body and the whole apparatus between them. His thumb curves up on the meat of his thigh to rest near the top, where he starts absentmindedly rubbing the digit across the soft, well-worn fabric of his pants.

The movement seems to catch Timmy’s eye, who looks up slightly and fixes his gaze on Armie’s finger moving over his thigh instead of the shifter. Armie continues to watch Timmy, who is in turn watching his finger move; he repositions his body slightly in his seat, scooting down so his legs fall open further, hand coming to rest fully atop his thigh now.

He keeps looking at Timmy, who isn’t moving at all except for the rise and fall of his body with each even breath. Armie looks as Timmy continues to watch the hand that’s on his leg. He’s still not meeting Armie’s gaze. 

Armie’s watching Timmy, seeking a sign from him, a look, a nod, a laugh, anything. But he doesn’t give it, doesn’t seem to want to break his own thoughts, the atmosphere between them. Suddenly the truck really feels like it’s sealing them in, creating a little bubble just for the two of them and no one else. 

Without looking he knows that it’s Tim’s leg-gear shift-his leg, that there’s only a few inches of plastic between them, and suddenly there’s another feeling on top of the pride he’d felt in teaching Tim, in Tim actually doing it because it was Armie who taught him. There’s a new sense now, a want, a need to reach out and touch. 

There’s a buzzing in his limbs, a sort of tingling in his fingertips, as he imagines what would happen if suddenly the gear shift, that meaningless, plasticky thing between them were to disappear. If it wasn’t there at all. 

If they could be leg-to-leg, nothing to get in the way of skin on skin, nothing to hinder actual contact.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he startles slightly when he feels Timmy’s hand slip under his own, the smooth slide registering on two points of contact, both palm and thigh lighting up at the newly applied pressure. Now they’re both staring at Armie’s thigh, where Armie’s hand lays over Timmy’s, a sort of hand sandwich, delicious not in taste but in touch. 

Armie flicks his gaze up to Timmy’s face again, watching. Timmy keeps looking at Armie’s thigh, his hand, Armie’s hand, their points of connection. Armie squeezes Timmy’s hand, applying the slightest pressure to the back of that delicate hand under his own, pressing it down further into his own thigh. At that Timmy turns his face towards his shoulder, looking away from their hands and towards the back of the truck. Armie has the perfect view of his lovely face, the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbone mixing with the softness of his dark eyelashes and pink lips. Armie squeezes a little harder and he watches Timmy’s eyes flutter slightly, those dark eyelashes trembling as his eyelids move rapidly.

Timmy’s fingers are delicate but strong, just like the rest of him. Armie pushes his fingers between them, keeping Timmy’s hand flat on his thigh, and feels Timmy’s fingers flex against his leg. He takes Timmy’s hand in his grip and moves it, looking down as he slides them both a few inches up towards his hips.

He hears a puff of breath escape Timmy’s lips and looks over just in time to see his eyes open again. This time his gaze comes to rest on Armie’s shoulder, lids open just enough so Armie can see the color of his eyes, a mix of green and gold and brown that dances in the light.

Armie’s gaze is still fixed on Timmy’s eyes when he feels his hand being lifted off his thigh and pulled towards the driver’s seat. Their hands are still fitted together, Armie’s fingers still clasped between Timmy’s, and they move easily as one. They both watch as Tim brings their joined hands over to his own lap, settling them on his thigh just on the other side of the gear shift from where they were sitting on Armie’s leg previously.

They both watch silently, quiet except for the slightly increased pace of their breathing, as Tim moves both their hands up his thigh, sliding them towards the place where his leg meets his hips. Armie is absolutely hypnotized, amazed at Tim’s courage, at his trust in him; as he watches their hands creep ever higher, there is a strong possibility that he may leave his body altogether at any moment. 

As their hands reach the seam of Tim’s thigh, Armie can’t help the way his mouth falls open, how his breath comes out in faster, more ragged pants. Tim’s hand is still stretched out, Armie’s curled around his on top. As they move upward, Tim’s fingers can’t help but brush against his clothed crotch; Armie’s eyes snap up to his face as Tim sighs and brushes his fingers not once but twice, Armie’s hand moving in tandem. Armie can almost feel the material of Tim’s jeans under his own fingers, knows that it’s slightly thicker and rougher where the extra flap of denim covers the zipper. The thought makes Armie’s fingers clench Tim’s hand a little tighter, which in turn pushes Tim’s fingers to touch himself with a bit more force. Armie hears Tim’s gasp and feels like he may die just from that sound alone.

Armie grounds himself in the feeling of Tim’s hand under his own; he knows without looking that it’s his hand-Tim’s hand-denim-Tim, the very essence of him hidden by only a thin layer of cloth. He knows he’s oh so very close to touching Tim for real, with only flesh and cotton standing in the way of full contact. He can’t help but want to reach out and touch; he slowly starts unwinding his fingers from where they’re tightly clasped in the spaces between Tim’s, sliding them from crease to fingertip so that his hand is splayed out on top of Tim’s, both their fingers now stretching towards the place under Tim’s zipper.

He reaches out with his own fingertips to brush Tim’s crotch, mimicking Tim’s earlier accidental motion with more purpose, stroking over the fly of his pants in slow, up-and-down motions. With the way their hands are splayed, he’s moving both of them together, an endless loop of pressure and response, this you move-I move that feels self-contained yet infinite.

Armie takes in the whole of Tim’s face, the soft brow, the almost-closed eyes, that perfect nose, the bow of his lips, pretty pink mouth hanging open in pleasure. 

“What do you think?” he asks him, steadily watching his profile, knowing how much he wants this, practically bursting with how much he wants it, wanting to make sure Tim feels the same. In response, Tim nods his head vigorously and pushes his hips into Armie’s touch, forcing more of Armie’s fingers to cover his crotch, those fingers now coming into contact with the hard line of his cock more fully. Armie lets him breathe into this newly-found angle, then moves his fingers over Tim completely and curls them, gripping him over his jeans. Tim makes a sound that doesn’t have a name, but it’s perfect and Armie’s already trying to name it in his head, describe it to himself in the greatest detail possible so he can remember it and play it back at will. Everything about Tim is slack - his posture, his eyes, his mouth. He seems overwhelmed by Armie’s touch.

Tim seems to come back to himself, regain some control of his motor functions, and Armie watches as he brings his left hand, the one not laying under Armie’s, into his lap to join both their hands. The hand that is under Armie’s slowly starts to move, too, slipping out from under his hand and Armie has the instant instinct to trap it there, not let it escape. But he’s too curious as to what Tim is going to do, so he lets his hand go.

Both of Tim’s hands move to the top of his jeans, Armie’s hand now laying on Tim’s right leg all on its own. Armie still feels the loss of Tim’s hand under his, but relishes the new feeling of Tim’s warm thigh, now only one layer remaining between him and Tim’s soft skin. Armie has his gaze fixed on the movement of Tim’s hands now, everything seeming to play out in slow motion. He watches with bated breath, his body still, his whole self poised in anticipation as Tim moves his hands to his pants and starts undoing them.

Armie’s surely left his body now, he definitely no longer exists in a plane of reality; but he can’t bring himself to blink in case he misses anything, even the smallest detail, in case it is in fact real.

Tim’s fingers flick open the button of his pants and Armie still hasn’t taken a proper breath. It doesn’t help any when he starts pulling the zipper down, slowly, millimeter by millimeter. Armie takes a barely-there breath just to sustain himself; he fears he may stop breathing altogether when it’s all the way down. What’s revealed is not the soft material of some sort of undergarment, but only bare skin, dotted with soft wiry hairs, and Armie thinks he may actually pass out.

He looks at Tim’s newly revealed skin, what seems like miles to Armie’s eyes, and he looks, and he _looks_. There’s nothing he’d like to do but keep on looking until the end of time but it may be the end of him if he does so. He finally takes a breath, sudden and stuttering, and flicks his gaze up to Tim’s face. What he finds there nearly undoes him, although he’s surprised there’s anything left to undo at this point.

As Armie makes contact with Tim’s face, the first thing he notices is bright green, almost shining, framed by delicate dark brown. It takes him a second to realize that Tim’s eyes are on him, and it makes him shiver; he’s shaken but can’t look away even if his life depended on it. Timmy is looking up at him from underneath his eyelashes, gaze planted directly on Armie’s face for the first time since they’d stopped driving.

Armie feels like he needs to regain some control, lest he lose function of his entire body and melt into a puddle of goo right there in the passenger’s seat. He keeps his gaze on Timmy’s eyes, which are sparkling with emotion, but knows that if he lowered his gaze at all he’d be met with the expanse of Tim’s exposed skin just above his crotch.

Out of his peripheral vision he sees Timmy moving his hands to the unzippered part of his jeans, as if to take himself out. This whole experience in his truck had already made Armie dizzy, but the fact that Tim’s about to expose himself for Armie’s eyes only truly makes his head spin. Armie is set ablaze with anticipation, possessed by a kind of heat he’s never felt before.

Still looking into Timmy’s eyes as Timmy looks into his, he registers that Timmy has finished freeing his cock from the confines of his tight jeans. He wants to look at it, see its size and shape, admire its smoothness, feast upon it with his eyes.

He feels set on fire, and his body’s burning sets him into action again.

“Put your hand on it,” Armie commands, registering the answering blaze that flashes in Timmy’s eyes as he says it. He finally allows himself to lower his eyes to Tim’s exposed member, devouring it with his gaze, thinking at once that it’s too much and never enough.

Tim gets his hand around his cock, and once he’s done it, he looks back up at Armie, whose gaze is still lowered, unable to tear himself away from the sight of Tim’s delicate hand, Tim’s hardening cock.

He stares at the union of hand and cock and wants nothing more than to touch them both, to close his hand around Tim’s and become part of the loop of contact. Acting on those desires, Armie fits his hand on top of Tim’s hand, so that now they’re all connected. He’d know, even without looking, that it’s his hand-Tim’s hand-Tim. Now he’s got all of Tim in his hands, his hand, his cock, no longer any layers of anything between their touches.

Armie’s eyes are fixed squarely on Timmy, on his face, his hand around his dick, his eyes, his reactions.

He grips his hand tighter around Tim, making him squirm and softly moan.

“Show me,” he says lowly, wanting to help make him feel good, be a part of his pleasure.

Timmy starts moving his hand, and they both sigh, Tim at the feeling of some friction on his swollen dick and Armie at the way his hand can’t help but move on top of Tim’s. Armie’s hand is glued to Tim’s, his eyes glued to Tim’s face, not wanting to miss a single movement, a single expression.

It’s awkward with how they are sitting, the gear shift between them, but Armie lets him set the pace as they both begin working Tim’s dick slowly.

Armie has to focus on his breathing, feels like he’s forgotten how, this thing he’s done all his life without thinking now requiring intention, exertion. He’s touching Timmy, who’s touching himself; their hands are touching, and they’re touching Timmy together -- it’s a great big mixed up sequence of touch-on touch-on touch, and it has Armie overwhelmed.

The longer their hands move over Tim’s length, the more noises escape from those pretty pink lips; those sounds seem to move from Armie’s ears all throughout his entire body, spreading through him like warm medicine, relaxing and arousing him in the same measure. Armie’s ears seem extra sensitive to Timmy’s voice, his breath; he’s tuned in to all their nuances, wants to steal them from Timmy’s lips and keep them for himself somewhere safe.

Armie shifts in his seat to get a better grip, and his hand shifts in return, moving a little side-to-side on top of Timmy. The new movement unexpectedly forces a moan from Timmy’s lips, as if he can’t hold in how good it feels, and the sound goes straight through Armie like a rod, piercing him with want. His blood boils with it. 

He can’t help the way his hand tightens over Timmy’s in response to that delicious noise, and selfishly he wants to hear Timmy do it again (and again, and _again_ ). Timmy’s back arches and his head tips into the headrest behind him, lost in his own pleasure, in the pleasure Armie’s giving him, in what they’re creating together. He recreates Armie’s accidental movement by pushing against Armie’s grip to give a little flick of his wrist at the head of his cock, and Armie leans into it, increasing the pressure of the twist by adding his own momentum to it.

They’re moving in all directions now -- up, down, left, right, back and forth, side to side. Timmy grips himself tighter and Armie squeezes Tim’s hand in response, hanging on for dear life. He hopes Timmy’s close at the same time that he wishes for this to simply go on forever, both their hands moving in tandem ad infinitum.

But Timmy seems keen on driving himself closer and closer towards orgasm, Armie along for the ride, leaning into it, helping him out. Armie loves that he’s a part of this, watching Tim get closer, being a part of the reason Tim’ll fall apart.

Timmy’s got his mouth open wide, lips wet and cherry red, cheeks flushed pink, hand pushing down against his dripping cock. He’s gasping for air, body pulling taught, his hand twisting over his dick, moving against Armie’s hand, their hands working in conjunction. 

He turns his head to look over at Armie, open mouthed, brow creased, eyes desperate. He looks so open, so beautiful, all flushed and wanting -- because of Armie, because of what they’re doing, hand-to-hand, gaze-to-gaze.

Their eyes meeting is like a lightning strike, and Armie feels equally struck by the quiet “Oh, fuck” that spills from Tim’s lips, looking into his eyes as he starts to come, gazes still connected while thick ribbons erupt from Tim’s cock and over their joined hands, before Tim’s eyes slip shut as he rides out the rest of his orgasm. 

Once it’s over, Tim slumps back against his seat, panting hard. Armie takes a moment to realize he’s breathing just as hard in his own seat; Tim’s breath is his, flowing through their joined hands and into his own body. 

They keep their hands glued together, their joining now aided by the sticky white substance that covers them both, helping to fix them together further. 

Tim’s eyes open when his breathing slows down a bit; at first he’s staring out the front windshield, his gaze eventually slipping down to their hands and his now-softening dick. Armie follows his gaze and they’re both staring at their come-covered hands, still one on top of the other. 

Armie knows from his own experience that Tim could be oversensitive, plus he may want to clean up, so he regrettably starts loosening his grip on Tim’s hand. He moves his own hand back over to his side of the truck, mind already thinking to a pack of his tissues he’s hopefully got stashed under his seat so he can help Tim clean up. His movements are slowed down by the fact that Tim’s come follows his hand, sticky and stringing out, keeping them connected still, and Armie keeps his eyes on it until the strands break.

Then he’s moving, keeping his left hand hovering as he starts digging under the passenger seat with his right. He doesn’t find what he’s looking for initially, has to stretch a little further to reach under the seat more, and his hand covered with Timmy’s release comes into contact with the gear shift, resting there momentarily as his other hand finally touches the corner of the box of tissue.

He sits back up triumphantly, holding up the cardboard box, expecting to meet Timmy’s eyes. Instead he finds him not having moved a single inch, hand still on his dick covered with white fluid, eyes wide as he looks at Armie’s hand over the shifter. Armie smirks, taking a moment to watch Tim stare at his hand with his mouth agape. 

After taking a few seconds to appreciate the sight, he plops the tissue box into his lap and brings his hand over to wipe it off. It takes a moment before he learns it’s best to pull out several tissues at once, the cooled fluid being too sticky for just one tissue at a time. After his hand is clean, he takes one last tissue and swipes it over the gear shift, balling it all up and tossing the dirty paper into the backseat without looking. He can clean it up later.

He takes the box in his now-clean hand and stretches it out towards the driver’s seat, stopping midway when he sees Timmy’s face, mouth still hanging open slightly and cheeks flushed deeply in embarrassment. But Armie can’t bring himself to be embarrassed in the slightest, is amazed at Timmy’s openness and is grateful for his willingness to expose himself to Armie, in every sense. He’s proud of him, for everything that he’s done, not just for what’s transpired during their little lesson or time spent jerking him off today. 

Armie can’t help but beam at him, eyes soft and smile wide; he watches Timmy meet his gaze and soften, too, cheeks still flushed but a small smile coming to his face. Tim reaches over with his clean hand to grab a handful of tissue and turns his attention to the mess in his lap. Timmy slowly releases his hand, hissing as he lets go, head falling back and eyes closing momentarily as the feeling registers on his oversensitive cock; Armie winces in sympathy. He then goes about cleaning himself carefully, looking up to see Armie’s hand still outstretched over the gearshift between them. He looks uncertain for a moment before he places the whole dirty wad into Armie’s hand, who tosses it over his shoulder once again without a second thought.

Armie’s hand comes back to the front of the truck and he can’t help but reach out and touch, brushing a lock of hair behind Timmy’s ear and leaning over to kiss his cheek quickly.

Timmy looks at him, still looking awfully beautiful and sweetly vulnerable, every emotion he’s feeling dancing in his eyes. It’s everything Armie loves about him.

Still gazing at Timmy’s lovely face, Armie raises his eyebrows and asks, “Drive us back?”, wanting to get Tim home to show him something else.

It takes a few moments for the words to register with Timmy, who eventually shuffles in his seat so he can tuck himself back in and re-buckle his seatbelt.

They drive back in silence, their little bubble still unbroken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahahahaha x a million.
> 
> I was planning on making this one ridiculously long one-shot, but I just can't keep this from you guys anymore!! I think everyone needs some cheering up, and what better way than a little smut with feelings, amirite? There will be a second part with that something that Armie wants to show Timmy at home (mind the tags) very soon. I've got all the time in the world to write since I can't go outside! (everythingisfine)
> 
> IRL Armie went to a Baptist high school in LA but he deserves nice things so there ya go. (I'm guessing they did not, in fact, have shop class taught by Christians lol)
> 
> I've never driven stick in my life, so I literally just googled how to do it. If I've gotten it wrong, I'm sorry, blame the internet.
> 
> STAY SAFE PEACHES!!! <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie's got something else he wants to show Timmy. Let the lesson continue...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 10 of Quarantine.
> 
> Yay?
> 
> I've been doing embroidery, watching funny tv shows only, and of course, writing this to try and stay sane. 
> 
> It's working?
> 
> I initially wanted to write this from Timmy's perspective, more or less, but it just came out from Armie's instead. Waddaya gonna do. I also didn't anticipate that I would get _this deep into the feels_ with this chapter, so, you've been warned. Hope you enjoy the continuation of this ridiculously tender, and hopefully hot, little story.
> 
> It also got ridiculously long (HELLO 22 PAGES) but I'm guessing that you won't so much mind that. Hopefully it'll entertain you and take your mind off of things for a little while.
> 
> Armie was really meant to teach Timmy in this whole thing, but lbr, Timmy _knows what he is doing_ , plus he's got Armie wrapped around his goddamn finger, so yeah. I'm not sure he really needed to be taught so much. But he still very much appreciates and, even, lurrrves, the guidance of one Mr. Armie Hammer and his incredibly sexy voice. 
> 
> Here is an exploration of those three little tags we haven't dealt with yet....

They walk into Armie’s house, stopping just inside the door. Armie turns towards him and sees that Timmy’s cheeks are still flushed, his hair just the right side of wild. Armie can’t help the way he looks at Timmy, unabashed in his gaze. Timmy looks back, Armie’s eyes sweeping over his entire form before finally landing back on his face.

“Come on in,” he tells him, the quick motion of his head indicating towards the living room. Timmy follows willingly, hands clasped behind his back; Armie feels Timmy’s eyes on him from behind as they walk further into the house.

When they reach the big, plush couch in the living room, Armie waits for Tim to catch up with him, turns towards him when Tim comes to his side. Timmy turns too, mimicking his actions, and they stand facing one another, barely any distance between their bodies.

The air around them feels charged, the tension thick and palpable.

Armie closes the small gap, moves further into Tim’s space, taking a bold step towards him. Then he’s moving slowly, as if not wanting to spook him, bringing his hands up to Tim’s shoulders and resting them there gently. He’s watching Tim’s face, sees a questioning look flash through his eyes, but otherwise his expression remains open, unguarded.

He’s lost in those eyes, that gaze that regards him so openly, so trusting in what he says and does. He doesn’t speak for a while, still holding onto Tim’s shoulders, breathing into his space, gazing into his eyes, face soft but looking at him with intent.

Armie’s brought out of his reverie by Tim’s mouth opening, as if to speak, his brow furrowing slightly.

“So…” he starts, unsure of what to say next.

“So,” Armie answers, knowing he’s the one who needs to be in charge here, who needs to lead Tim with a confident hand.

Armie grips his shoulders more tightly and takes a breath.

“I want to try something,” he says, keeping his voice gentle, matching the softness of his tone with the firm touch of his hands as he spins them around so Tim’s back is towards the couch, pressing into him to encourage him to sit. 

Tim goes easily, still looking slightly confused. Nevertheless he lowers himself down to the couch under Armie’s touch, willing to be guided into a sitting position. He gazes up at Armie, head tipped back, eyes wide and shining.

“Timmy,” he says lowly, imploringly. He looks down at Tim’s face and can’t help but gaze at him fondly, can’t help but think about how lovely he is. Armie reaches out to cup his chin, holding his face tenderly as he stares deeply into his eyes.

“I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

His voice rumbles into the space between them and he registers Tim’s quick intake of breath, sees his brows unfurrow slightly. He’s looking at Armie carefully, and Armie answers with his own gaze that asks Tim to trust him.

Keeping his gaze on Timmy’s face, asking for him to keep looking back, Armie brings his hands to the top of his pants. They’re feeling awfully tight now, with Tim underneath him, with how he’s looking up at Armie, trusting but still needing Armie to guide him, reassure him. 

He tilts his head to the side as he looks down at Tim’s face, fingers moving slowly but gaze unwavering. He smiles down at him, fangs showing, enjoying how Tim’s eyes are getting wider and his breath more rapid with each passing moment. He pops open the button at his fly, registering Tim’s little gasp, feeling smug that he can have this kind of an effect on him. Then he’s moving his hands to the zipper, pulling it down slowly, ever so slowly, exposing himself millimeter by millimeter.

All the air feels like it’s been sucked out of the room, the edges of his vision blurring so it’s only Timmy he sees. He looks at his lovely face, flicks between his almond-shaped eyes and the bow of his lips, smirk still in place. 

When he reaches the bottom of the zipper he pauses, letting the moment stretch on. They continue looking at each other, Timmy becoming more and more of a squirmy mess, until he can’t hold Armie’s gaze any longer and he finally looks down.

Tim’s eyes are level with his crotch, and that’s where his stare is currently fixed; his expression similar to the one he’d had when he’d been looking at the gearshift between them, face seemingly relaxed but with a hunger in his gaze, and Armie feels pinned by it. He can’t stop looking at Tim’s face for anything, and his cock seems to be just as interested. Armie’s nerves are dancing with the memory of touching Tim back in the truck, with the anticipation of being touched in return.

“Do you want this?”, Armie asks, hands moving slowly down as if to pull himself out, hesitating as he waits for Tim’s answer. 

He keeps his hands still as he waits, giving Timmy time to form an answer, to give his consent.

He gets it when Timmy nods his head, moving it as little as possible with short, quick little jerks, eyes still planted firmly on Armie’s exposed crotch.

Reaching out, Armie brings one of his hands to Tim’s chin and pulls it towards him, grabbing more roughly this time, urging Tim to bring his gaze back up to Armie’s face. Their eyes lock again and Tim’s are visibly darker, his soft pink mouth falling open as his head tips back with how he has to look up at Armie. 

“Timmy,” Armie implores, needing to hear Tim say the words, needing to know that he really wants this.

Tim licks his lips, and Armie’s eyes lock onto his mouth as he watches the slickness of his spit slide over his lower lip, watches as his top and bottom lip work together to form the word “Yes”.

Armie feels set free by that one little syllable, shows his gratitude by swiping his thumb over Tim’s wet lip, dragging his finger through Tim’s spit and tracing it down to his chin, leaving a small trail of moisture on his face.

He takes himself out under Timmy’s watchful gaze.

His heart starts kicking up its pace when he’s fully exposed, forcing himself to breathe as Timmy’s eyes wander over the length of his dick. Armie sees his tongue peek out between his open lips and he holds back a full-body shiver at the sight.

He takes a steadying breath to ground himself, trying to hold onto whatever shreds of control he may have left.

Timmy, seeming to have looked his fill, at least for now, tips his head back up to meet Armie’s eyes, who takes that as a sign to continue.

“Put your hand on it.”

Timmy takes a hold of his dick, grip soft and eyes wide, still looking up at Armie’s face. He pauses there, fist closed around Armie’s dick and eyes locked on his face. Armie looks down at him, takes in his innocent eyes and pouty mouth, stutters for a moment when he thinks that maybe Timmy is pausing because he’s unsure about this, but then the next moment his dick is giving a helpless twitch within the confines of Timmy’s grip when he realizes that Tim is just waiting for his next instruction. 

Instead of using his words, Armie wants to show him. Bringing his hand to crotch level, he wraps his hand around Tim’s, whose hand is wrapped around Armie’s cock. Now it’s his hand-Tim’s hand-himself, his dick very interested in this new arrangement. He squeezes Timmy’s hand under his own and starts moving them both along his length.

Once they’ve gotten in a few pumps together, Armie lets his hand drop, smiling down at Timmy to let him know it’s okay to continue on his own. He likes how Timmy’s hand feels wrapped around his cock; he trusts him.

Timmy continues to move his hand up and down, watching Armie all the while. Armie can’t help the way his face softens, eyelids drooping and mouth slackening. The feel of Timmy’s hand, even with the lightness of his touch, is more than he could have ever imagined. He feels raw, exposed at how much emotion a simple grip on his dick brings up, but it’s Timmy after all. The only person he’d ever expose himself this much to.

Timmy keeps stroking and it feels too goddamn good to hold back anymore. Armie lets out a moan, showing Timmy how much he appreciates how he’s holding him, in every sense - his vulnerability, his gaze, his dick, his heart. The longer Tim’s hand is on him, the more he feels like his heart is exploding. The sensation in his heart makes it feel like his blood pumps faster, seemingly boiling over with how much he wants this.

He wants this. And he wants it harder.

“Really grip it, now.” Timmy immediately takes a firmer grip, gaining confidence with each stroke. Tim starts flicking his wrist at the top, making Armie’s eyes slam shut with pleasure, moans escaping him with each completion of the up-down movements.

The explosion in his heart transfers to a near-explosion elsewhere and he needs to slow things down; he still has other things in mind for them to explore together.

Armie tips his head back down and grabs Tim’s wrist with a firm hand, stopping his motions, eyes watching Tim’s face for any negative reactions. Seeing only his expectant gaze, Armie grips a bit harder and Tim’s eyes do the fluttery thing again, eyelashes trembling delicately at the rapid movement of his eyelids.

Ever since their experience in his truck, Armie had wanted to see what it would be like to restrain Timmy, to take some part of his locomotion away from him; to see if he would struggle, if he would derive any pleasure from it. Timmy knows him, he knows that this is what Armie enjoys, but the two of them have never broached the subject of trying it together. Seeing the way Timmy’s eyes flutter whenever Armie holds him in his firm grip, how he seems to like it when Armie squeezes a little harder, makes him think Timmy might be into it. Still, Armie is nervous to ask, his excitement at the prospect of tying Timmy up coming in equal measure to his trepidation.

It’s something he wants to try with him now - it’s the whole reason why he brought Timmy back to his place, made him sit on the couch.

With Tim’s wrist still gripped in one hand, Armie leans over to open the drawer of a side table to grab what he needs with his other hand, bringing the necessary supply out in his fist. When it comes closer to his face, Tim’s eyes land on the length of rope, coiled up neatly. Armie watches Tim’s gaze rove over it with curiosity, nervousness, and what Armie hopes is arousal.

He lets go of Tim’s wrist, anchoring the attached hand on his own thigh, and takes the length of rope in his capable grasp. Timmy looks transfixed as Armie unwinds the coil slowly, running his hands along the rope as it lengthens in his grip.

Armie holds it in front of Tim’s face, asking, “Ever tried it?” 

Tim shakes his head slowly, eyes wide. 

“Want to try now?” Armie’s impressed at how the words come out, sounding so cool to his own ears, calm even. He sounds far more in control than he feels, thank fuck.

Armie stretches his hand out towards Tim, palm open, waiting for him to answer.

Instead of nervousness, what he finds in Timmy’s eyes is something like wonder, something in the way he looks up at Armie that feels like awe. In place of a verbal answer, Timmy slides the hand on Armie’s thigh into his waiting grip, lifts the other one from his lap to join it, palms exposed as if he’s offering himself up. Armie looks down at their hands, both of Timmy’s and one of his; looks at the way his hand can span the entirety of both of Timmy’s wrists with ease, how those hands fit so perfectly within his own.

He feels something shift deep within him, and knows that Timmy giving him his hands means he’s also giving him his trust. Armie’s fingers curl more tightly around Timmy’s wrists at the thought, trying to send his admiration and gratitude through his touch.

“Ready?” he asks, unsure if he himself is, but knowing he needs to be a steady presence and guide Timmy through this with clarity and control.

“Ready,” is Tim’s answer, a long exhale following the word, as if he’s letting go, as if he’s handing the reins over to Armie, as if he wants him to take control.

He lays the rope across Tim’s wrists, still holding them in his firm grasp, and admires the way it looks against his skin. They’re both looking down at where their hands are connected, at the rope-Tim’s hands-Armie’s hand, at the shift of power happening there.

Armie loops the rope carefully around Timmy’s wrists, his hands working in tandem to tie both of Tim’s at once, the elegant, practiced knots coming together with ease.

He continues working until Tim’s all tied up; he takes his bound wrists into a one-handed grip again, holding it out in front of him and letting himself admire his own handiwork. 

It might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He leans over and places a small kiss to Timmy’s wrists, lips landing in the small gap between them, so that both of his hands are equally showered with love. Armie appreciates this so goddamn much, the way Tim trusts him enough to do this, loves him for it.

He leans up and steps back to admire the whole picture - wild hair, dark eyes, flushed features, gaze landing finally on his bound wrists. 

“Fuck, Timmy,” he says, reverently. Timmy looks so fucking beautiful with his wrists all tied up, offering himself up like that, waiting demurely for Armie’s next move, tied up hands resting in his lap.

He keeps the space between them and just watches; wants to give Timmy time to settle into the feeling of being tied, wants to allow himself a few more moments for simple admiration. He tries to memorize exactly how Tim looks, wants to take a picture in his mind so he can take it out and look at it later.

He looks and looks and _looks_ until Timmy starts squirming slightly, the anticipation of Armie’s next move probably getting to him, unused as he is to the feeling of not being able to move his hands independently of one another.

Armie steps up to him, muttering “You’re perfect”, wanting to convey exactly how grateful he is, wanting to alleviate any uneasiness Tim might be feeling. Tim is visibly struck by the words, closing his eyes as if he needs to shut out the visual world just for a moment. He takes a few breaths with his eyes closed, and he seems to compose himself little by little, becoming more and more still. 

Armie watches his transition to stillness, waits for signs of tranquility. His gaze sweeps over his seated form, taking in the angular jaw, slick lips, tied hands. Tim opens his eyes again and Armie sees a new sense of calm in them, determination even. Timmy wants to make this good for him, and at that Armie’s cock starts to fill a little further. Having settled his body, Tim seems to fight with himself as to where to look, finally settling on Armie’s half-hard length. Armie can tell that he wants to watch Armie watching him but all he can look at is Armie’s cock rising up, slowly filling out under his gaze.

Armie moves closer, cock jutting out in front of him, just level with Tim’s perfect pink mouth. He stops when the tip of his dick is millimeters away from Tim’s lips, lips that are open so he can feel Tim’s breath on him.

He’s shivering with need but wants to remain in control, has to compose himself. He takes a breath, takes a hold of himself and asks “Wanna taste it?”, seeing Tim’s tongue peeking out between his lips, breath going ragged at the sight of that pink bit of muscle, wanting to feel it on himself so badly. There’s barely any space between them; it would be so easy for Tim’s tongue to reach out and touch the tip of his cock, would only require Armie to move a hair closer.

“I want your cock in my mouth,” Tim breathes out right against Armie’s tip and he almost loses it. 

He puts a hand in Tim’s hair, grounds himself by gripping gently at the dark, silky curls. “You gotta lick it first,” Armie says, hand on his dick as he aims it straight towards Timmy’s open mouth.

Tim tentatively touches Armie with his tongue and gives a single lick before closing his lips around the spongy head. His eyes are already threatening to roll back in his head at the feeling, and they’ve only just begun. He sucks harder, seeming to want more of Armie in his mouth, all of him, greedy for it, and Armie throws back his head, breaking eye contact, breathing out a rush of air. The hand in Tim’s curls tightens and Tim closes his eyes, body shivering with Armie’s rougher grip.

He unclasps his lips, letting Armie’s cock simply rest against his tongue. He starts moving back and forth on the underside of his dick, keeping his tongue flat, stretching it out so he comes into contact with Armie’s fingers where he’s still holding himself. Tim points his tongue and licks back up towards the head, where he swirls his tongue around a few times slowly.

“That’s it.” Timmy seems to preen under the encouragement, keeps licking away at Armie’s dick.

Armie drops his hand from his dick as Tim lets it fall from his mouth and gives kitten licks, tonguing the head. It bobs up and down, each touch of Tim’s tongue making it bounce without Armie’s hand as an anchor. 

“Yes, fool with it.”

Tim’s tongue flicks at a particularly sensitive spot just under the head, and Armie rocks forward into Tim’s mouth a little, unable to help himself. Tim moans as Armie slides further against his tongue, the noise sending vibrations all through Armie’s body. 

“Yeah, you like that?” Armie asks breathlessly.

Timmy pulls back slightly and looks up at Armie with his dark eyes, dark eyelashes, piercing him with his gaze.

“Yes, Armie.” 

Those two words punch through Armie, and he feels set on fire, the need to claim Timmy’s mouth with his dick suddenly much more urgent, the desire to make him take it all the way down just to feel the head at the back of his throat. But he wants to be nice, treat Timmy right, so he starts off slow.

He moves closer and Tim sticks out his tongue again. He’s vibrating with need, but feels a wave of tenderness wash over him at the sight of Tim’s beautiful face, open and ready for him.

Armie brings his hand up to Tim’s cheek, feeling it hot and flushed under his touch, caressing with his knuckles and fingertips gently as he starts moving himself further into Timmy’s mouth. He’s hot there too, the heat of his mouth registering against Armie’s dick, surrounding him. He sighs as he pushes further still, fingertips closing around Tim’s earlobe and anchoring there, stopping short of the back of Tim’s mouth. He doesn’t want to push too far on the first go, wants this to build gradually, allow time for Tim to get used to it. Tim’s mouth is still open, hot breath puffing against Armie’s cock; Armie is practically shaking with how he’s holding himself there, wants to feel engulfed by Timmy, but he knows he has to go slow.

He pauses and lets Tim get used to the idea of having his mouth full of him, waits to see if this is what he really wants. His fingers keep caressing Tim’s ear, moving the lobe between his fingertips to keep himself grounded as he waits.

Tim’s eyes move up to meet his, and with the way his head is angled to catch Armie’s dick on his tongue, he’s looking at him through the curtain of his eyelashes. The whole picture is just too damn much, and Timmy’s earlobe gets squeezed between Armie’s fingers in response. Armie knows Tim’s eyes are still on him, but he has to break the gaze and look down at his mouth, where it’s his cock-Tim’s tongue, where he’s resting against the pink, shiny muscle inside Tim’s mouth, feels his whole body vibrating with the need to move.

Still looking at Armie’s face, Tim closes his lips around him. Armie watches as his cock is swallowed up, feeling the wet heat of his mouth like a wave crashing over him, has to slide his hand past Tim’s ear and into his hair, gripping at soft curls as he tries to adjust to this new feeling. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, his voice barely there, overwhelmed with how good it feels.

Timmy moves his tongue along the underside again, only this time with Armie penetrating his mouth, Timmy’s heat penetrating Armie’s dick from all sides. His dick is fully inside Tim’s mouth but it’s like Tim is all around him. 

Armie rocks his hips forward slightly, sliding his dick along Tim’s tongue another half an inch before pulling back, the movements aided by the wetness inside Timmy’s mouth, the suction of his closed lips.

“Good?” He looks down at Timmy, hand still anchored in his hair so he doesn’t completely lose control, to check in. 

In answer, Tim looks up at Armie’s face, waits until they make eye contact, and hollows his cheeks, holding Armie’s gaze, a challenge in his eyes. Armie’s fingers scratch over his scalp, raking through soft curls before stretching towards the back of his head. With one hand he spans the entire width of Timmy’s head, and he takes a light but firm grip on it before pushing back in.

Armie keeps moving back and forth, hips practically stuttering already even though they’ve just barely started. The look of Tim’s lips stretched around his cock should be illegal. Match that with his sharp cheekbones and golden eyes, and Armie doesn’t know how he’s ever resisted him. His entire body feels pulled towards Tim as he rocks into his mouth over and over again.

He keeps his movements shallow, short, slow jabs, and it feels fucking amazing. Just the fact that he gets to do this is a blessing in itself. Still, he can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be even further inside, to push the head of his cock against the back of Tim’s mouth and down his throat. Armie isn’t small, he knows that; he’s barely gotten his dick into Tim’s mouth as it is. He can’t help but want to try a little more.

He pulls out so he can ask Tim, so he can get a real answer. His dick falls from Tim’s mouth, spit-slick and shiny, trails of Tim’s saliva still holding on as though separating completely is out of the question.

“Do you want more of me?” 

Tim is squirmy again, eyelids falling to half-mast at Armie’s question. He takes a big gulp of air before he seems ready to answer.

“I want to try,” he says, and fuck if Armie isn’t the luckiest bastard alive.

“Are you sure? I’m pretty…” he trails off, gesturing to his cock, hoping it’s obvious he means _big_ , _girthy_. He brings the same hand to Timmy’s mouth, unable to help himself from trailing his thumb along the spit hanging from his lower lip. He swipes at it and stares at the shiny gloss that’s left behind.

“Yes.” His eyes snap back up to meet Tim’s and watches them crinkle in amusement, the look of shock on his own face not registering until he sees Timmy’s smiling face. He feels like he can barely breathe.

“Fuck, ok….I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

“I know,” Timmy murmurs, maybe not even aware that he’s said it out loud, but the tenderness it evokes in Armie leaves him feeling grateful, almost stupefied. He’s never had anyone place that kind of automatic trust in him, and he finds himself utterly speechless. 

He leans down and gently presses his lips to Timmy’s wet, slightly swollen ones, trying with the kiss to express his gratitude the only way he can in this moment, full to bursting with overwhelming emotion. Timmy seems surprised at first, but quickly recovers and presses his lips back against Armie. They part with a quiet smacking sound, the wetness on Timmy’s lips from having Armie’s dick in his mouth now a thing they share between them.

Armie wants to share all of himself with Timmy, wants them to experience this together as fully as possible. This is a part of Armie, these things that turn him on, and he resolves to be true to that as much as he can. Since it’s Tim’s first time, especially with his hands tied up, he needs some of the power to be restored back to Timmy’s court, to make sure he can pull back all on his own if it gets to be too much.

He keeps his hands by his sides, smiling down at Timmy as he moves closer. Timmy’s answering smile is replaced by his open mouth and Armie makes contact, sliding into that warm mouth, that place that feels familiar by now, so good and so safe. 

Tim’s lips close around him as he’s still sliding in, and Armie swallows around a moan, hands gripping in and out of fists at his sides. Tim moans quietly in response, making Armie suck in a breath at the vibrations it sends through his cock. He holds in the air as he keeps pushing further, going slow so he can find the edge, the boundary of what Timmy can take on his first try.

He watches as he inches closer to being halfway in, unsure of how he’s even breathing anymore. It doesn’t feel like the normal in-out-in of everyday life, but rather in-hold it-in-out-in, uneven and all over the place. 

“Suck, baby,” Armie barely manages to get out, knowing that it’ll be easier if Tim’s helping him slide in, if they’re working at this together. Tim’s cheeks hollow and Armie almost faints, both from the feeling and Tim’s obedience.

The suction from Tim’s mouth is intense, and Armie gives a fleeting thought to where on earth he learned to suck dick so well, but it’s replaced by a hope in his chest that it’s so good because it’s them, because it’s him, because Tim wants to do this so badly.

And god, how Armie wants this now. He can’t see a future that doesn’t involve wanting this. He’d always known that he and Tim had something special, but not like _this_ , not where Tim falls apart under his hands and pleases him so well and _sees_ him and holds all of him at once.

The only part of Armie that Tim’s holding now is his dick (and not even with his hands), but somehow Armie feels like Tim’s got everything, his wants and his needs and his self. 

And not only the way that he’s holding him, but that way that he looks. God. He looks so fucking beautiful, eyelashes fanned out across his pinkened cheeks, rose colored lips stretched around Armie’s girth. Armie wants him, feels it somewhere deep, and not only sexually; he wants all of Tim, all for himself.

Timmy looks up again, hazel eyes piercing his, cheeks hollowed, holds his gaze as Armie starts pushing in further, sliding his cock towards the back of Tim’s mouth, still going slowly. Everything about today feels like they’d been testing the limits of their relationship, of what’s possible between the two of them; now they’re testing the limits of Tim’s gag reflex. It’s a warm, wet slide, and Armie tries to even out his breath, savor every inch of sensation.

He bumps up against the back of his mouth and rests there for a moment; he know that it’s going to take a lot of coordination, a lot of breathing to get through the next bit. That is, if Tim even wants to go any further.

“Do you want more?” He asks, his voice sounding more like a purr.

Tim’s eyes flutter and he makes a little “Mmf” sound around Armie’s dick, nods his head as much as he can.

“You’re going to have to breathe, Tim,” he tells him firmly, “It might feel strange. You can pull off any time you want to, ok?”

The corners of Tim’s lips quirk up as much as they can, what with his mouth being stuffed with Armie’s dick, and Armie thinks it should look funnier than it does, maybe even make him laugh, Tim trying to smile around his cock. But it just brings up that tenderness again, that feeling that he’s learning to associate with Tim and with what they’re doing here, together.

“Lemme hear you breathe,” he says, wanting to get in a few rounds without the intrusion of his cock, without any additional restrictions.

Tim breathes in and out of his nose, and Armie finds himself breathing along with him, Tim’s breath seeming to flow out of his mouth, through Armie’s dick and into his body. They’re connected now; they’re breathing as one. Tim’s breath puffs out of his nose slowly on an exhale and Armie delights in feeling it tickle against the top of his cock, loves that he has that added physical sensation on top of the ones he gets from the inside of Tim’s mouth.

“Ready for more?” he asks, once he feels they’ve done a few good rounds of deep breathing.

Tim lifts both of his hands together, tied as they are, and grabs Armie’s left hand that’s still hanging by his side. Their fingers curl together and he feels Timmy give him a squeeze, squeezes him back. He likes that they have this additional point of contact, likes the reassurance it provides.

Curling his fingers tightly, not wanting to let go of Tim’s hand for anything, he starts pushing his cock further into his mouth, past the barrier of the back of his mouth, seeing the concentration etched into Tim’s face, the determination in the line that appears between his brows.

“Breathe,” he says gently, the word barely there, coming out on a breath itself.

Tim seems okay and Armie is so proud. He squeezes Tim’s hand and rocks back and forth slightly in his mouth, the new sensation of the tightness of his throat feeling absolutely heavenly.

He pushes a little further on one of his thrusts and finds the limit. Tim chokes, a harsh stuttering noise escaping from the back of his throat, and pulls his head back slightly out of instinct. Armie looks down at his face and sees the embarrassed flush of his cheeks, a darker dusting of pink settling in there now, sees how Tim’s avoiding his gaze.

“Tim,” he says gently, sweetly, squeezing Tim’s fingers, hoping to convey compassion, acceptance. “You’re doing so well. You took more than half, that’s so good,” he says, hoping his words provide some reassurance.

Tim looks up at him slowly, and Armie can see the half-formed tears swimming in his eyes, his body’s natural reaction to having something shoved down his throat. He moves his hand, still linked with Timmy’s, stretches out his thumb to wipe at the corner of Tim’s eye, sends him a sweet smile.

“Want to try again?” He asks, trying to let him know there’s no pressure, that Tim doesn’t have to do it perfectly on the first try.

Armie feels his hand being moved back to his side, his fingers being dropped as Tim extends the fingers of his own right hand to wrap around Armie’s thigh, coming to rest there. Armie puts his hand over top of Tim’s, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles over Tim’s soft skin.

He watches with fascination as Tim takes him deeper into his mouth. At the sensation of pushing past the tight ring of muscle at the back of Tim’s mouth, he slips his thumb under the rope binding Tim’s wrists. This time it’s so many sensations all at once - the wet heat of Tim’s mouth and the rough-on-top but soft-on-the-bottom feeling he gets with his finger between the rope and the silky skin at Tim’s wrist. Without having to look, he knows it’s rope-thumb-skin, not even registering whose is whose anymore, feeling the two of them blending into one.

“Can you swallow around me?” he asks, pushing in at a faster pace this time, more confident that Tim can take it, that he wants to take it. Bringing his other hand up to Tim’s face to caress his cheek, he sees the moment that Tim decides to do it and then the undulating way his throat moves.

He pushes past the point where they’d had to stop last time; feels no resistance now.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

Timmy’s hand grips at his leg a little harder and he hears him take big, deliberate breaths through his nose. Armie pushes a little further and he’s most of the way in, figures that’s enough for now, being Tim’s first time and all. Add to that the fact that he’s so hard he could cut glass, and he doesn’t think he’ll last much longer. He stops, taking a moment to savor the feeling of being in Tim’s throat, the warm walls squeezing around his dick, nodding at Tim to keep breathing, knowing he looks absolutely wrecked, drooping eyelids and slackened jaw.

He gives a few quick little jerks inside the tightness of his throat, shallow back and forth movements, not pushing in or out too much, just to get himself closer to the edge.

His mind wanders back to the scene in his truck, where he’d started out wanting to teach Timmy how to drive a stick, and ended up helping to get him off across the console. He thinks of how good Timmy was at following directions, at taking orders, but how they’d still gotten there together. He never wanted anything less.

“Fuck.” It escapes his lips on a breathy exhale.

He thought back to everything they’d done together that day - driving in his truck, his hand on top of Tim’s as he shifted gears, as he stroked himself, the way Tim looked at him the moment he reached orgasm. And now, Tim below him, looking up at him with such trust, red lips stretched around his dick, wrists tied together, willing to please him, wanting to please him. Armie’s brain is flooded with images, with feelings of love. It’s all too much.

Armie loves how obedient Tim is, loves how responsive he is, feels like they’re feeding off one another in an endless loop of give and receive, pressure and feedback.

He feels himself getting close, just on the edge, and he can’t wait any longer. 

Taking his hand off Tim’s cheek, gripping at his own cock as he slides out of Tim’s mouth. It’s so wet with Tim’s saliva that his hand glides towards the tip all on its own, and Armie stutters; he’s so close.

“Fuck, Timmy,” he says, gasping for breath, unable to help the way his hand is sliding up and down his dick, “Can I come on your tongue?”

“Fuck, yes.” There’s no hesitation this time. Armie’s hand starts moving a little faster as soon as the words leave Timmy’s mouth.

Tim takes his bound hands and places them back in his lap, then sticks his tongue out and rests it against his bottom lip, making quick movements that snap him into place, the exact place he should be, waiting for Armie’s load.

“Oh, shit. Yes,” Armie grinds out, hand flying more quickly now, grunting as he starts spurting out wave after wave of come onto Timmy’s tongue, spilling in thick, white stripes across it.

He’s been watching himself paint Timmy’s tongue this whole time, but it’s not until he’s finished that it really registers, looking with wide eyes at his own release dripping down that talented bit of pink muscle, his come stringing out between them, so that it’s Tim’s tongue-his come-his cock, keeping them all connected. 

Armie keeps looking at the mess on Tim’s tongue, _his_ mess, and a wave of possessiveness washes over him, makes him swoop down and press his lips against Timmy’s, kissing him fiercely while he holds his chin firmly between thumb and forefinger. He’s overcome with the need to claim Tim’s mouth in a different way, doesn’t hesitate to push his own tongue against Tim’s lips, being granted access only a moment later. As their tongues rub up against each other, Armie can taste himself on Tim’s tongue. Armie takes some of his come onto his own tongue, and Tim pushes back against him, their tongues caressing each other with rough, eager swipes until there’s nothing left.

The two of them hover there after it’s over, mouths still close together, open so they share the breaths between them. Armie smiles, pecks him on the lips one more time and leans back up.

He unties him, working quickly and skillfully, throwing the rope on the floor carelessly; he can clean it up later.

Armie collapses onto the couch, arms going around Timmy and pulling him in, their two bodies resting against each other, Timmy snuggled into Armie’s side and his face in Armie’s neck. He kisses Timmy’s cheek, tucks away a lock of his hair, caresses his ear and the side of his face, tries to get his breathing back to normal.

**

“Well, yeah, I’ve driven stick before.” His eyes crinkle slightly at the memory.

“Oh. Really? Who taught you?”

He just smiles.

“Armie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't talk to me no one will.
> 
> Literally. (i'mnotcrying)
> 
> Wash your hands kids. Hope you can keep your sanity too but - if you don't have your head at least you have your health, right?


End file.
